


I Iowa

by Bodgei



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Deaf Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-05 22:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14628606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bodgei/pseuds/Bodgei
Summary: Clint loves the way Chris signs.It doesn't hurt that she is a physical therapist either.Clint at home between - well-- things.





	1. What is love

Clint loved the way she signed.  When she was angry, shoulders up, hands wide and flat like they were sliding along a table. When happy, dancing, left drifting out farther than her right. When they were watching tv, her fingers, quick and just out of his eyeline.

In nine months the language had become...idiosyncratic.  Almost as much as it had been with Barney or Bobbi. Nowhere near as much as Natasha, but she had learned other sign languages first. The language he shared with his work wife included so many borrowed words.

He loved that she didn't need him to hear.  He loved that she would take bags of frozen peas out of his hands and replace them with honest to God ice packs. Or sometimes heating pads.  That she made sure that he would move the shoulder, sore from hitting the ground to hard. And he wouldn't wake in the morning frozen in place.

But most of all, he loved that her life was a life filled with work, and friends.  Nights on the town with her sisters and co-workers. He loved that her life was her life.  She made a place for him - sure - but not always at the center.

And he loved the fit.


	2. The shoulder of your driveway, and the words I never felt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint comes home from a mission on his girlfriend's birthday. 
> 
> also I'm using Signed Exact English - it is easier to read.

Clint’s ear itched.  And he had a bit of a headache from the damn hearing aid.  He had had it in for three days straight and he was tired. When he was tired he would rub at the stupid thing.  Then the stupid thing would give him feedback, then he would get a headache and and that would make him fuck with it more.

It was Chris’ birthday, so he had driven back from the mansion without a shower or changing his clothes.  They had dinner plans. He was late and he didn’t feel up to going out to dinner.  It wasn't like he hadn't showered...sometime.  Was it the plane?

He felt like taking out the aid, eating a whole pizza and sleeping for three days.    

OK maybe ‘sleeping’ wasn’t the right term.  He wanted to pass out. He wanted his head to stop hurting.  He wanted his broken ribs to not hurt. And his shoulder and neck were stiff from...sleeping on the plane?  

Well, he didn’t know.

Something.

He was glad to be home from the mission.  He could barely carry his bag, with his bow and quiver belted around his chest.  If he had to draw his bow one more time his arm would snap off.

He wished it had snapped off.  

Maybe it had snapped off.  

He unlocked the door to her apartment.  He dropped his bag just inside and lifted the straps that held his bow and quiver to his body over his head.  He made a point of not flinching when Chris could see him. She was a physical therapist, if she saw him flinch she would make him work.

And he didn't have more work in him.

She wasn’t alone.  Her brother was on the couch with her, and her two sisters were on the easy chairs.  The three were watching tv, Chris was looking at him. The dogs were on the floor, Lucky looked up but Nile, Chris’ dalmatian didn’t open his eyes.  

Chris waved her hands in the air, jazz hands.  ASL applause. Then _“Clint”_ the sign for ‘C’ and then the sign for ‘bow’ _“You’re home”_

“I’m home and I have the aids in,” he said turning toward the kitchen area.

“Veggies are for eating, there are blue ice packs in the freezer,” Chris said.  Then to her brother, “Off the couch Brat. I want to cuddle boyfriend.”

Clint came back to the couch with his hands full of ice packs and dropped them on the coffee table so he could hug his dog.  Lucky licked his face and wiggled side to side in his excitement.

“Aids out, then stretch out,”  she said it out loud and then thumped her thigh with a hand and signed, “ _hurt?_ ”

“No,” Clint replied, sitting down next to her on the couch.

“ _Head?_ ”  

“Yeah,” Clint sighed. He pulled his bright purple everything-proof case he carried with him when he was working, out of one of the leg pouches in his cargo pants.  Out came the aids, and the case was tossed on the table. Boots came off and Clint went horizontal.

He had meant to eat first, but his eyes closed.  He felt ice packs being tucked around him and then her hand rubbing that sore muscle in his neck.  

And with that he was out like a light.


	3. We never mean to bother

He woke feeling like a mule had kicked him in the chest.  He started to sit up but Chris’ hand on his shoulder and the pain of her touch made him stop with a hiss.

“ _Show_ ” the force of her hands put an exclamation on it, her lifted eyebrows a question mark, “ _I know they are broken. I'm not a moron._ ”

“If you know,” Clint said with a sigh, “Why do I have to show you?”

“ _Because I need to see before I wrap them”_

“If I show you, will you let me sleep?”

 _“Who can stop you from sleeping,”_ Chris signed, _“Sleeping is your superpower.”_

“Persistence is my superpower,” Clint said sitting up slowly.  He really did feel like crap. The mission had been to much. To long. To loud.

He lifted his shirt and let Chris look him over.  He watch her face get professionally detached. Her touch was cool and clinical and she went over his chest. He tried not to react, but so many of her prods caused him to hiss or grunt.

“ _How many times were you kicked_?”     

“How did you know I was kicked?” he asked and then followed that with, “I have no idea.  A ton.”

“ _Shoe prints on you_.” she signed.

“Is there food?”

“The sibs are picking it up,” she said.  Or he thought she said, his head hurt and his lipreading sucked with a headache.  

“If I have to be social, I’ll go back to my place and go to bed.”

“They were going to drop it off,” she said.  He thought. And then signed, “ _Then you can get cuddled for the night_.”  

He had managed to sit up, and he glanced at the television there was a horror movie going.  Someone on the screen was being taunted for being a mutant. Chris got up and came back with an ACE bandage that had to be six inches wide and tape.

“Do you need to be wrapped?” she asked, “Or can you handle it?”

“ _I’m tough_ ,” he signed.  

“Does anyone know you are hurt?”

“No, but I won’t be needed,” he said with a shrug that got aborted halfway through, “OK maybe wrapped would be better.”

Chris was finishing the big figure eight of the wrap around his chest when the Siblings came back bringing the smell of food and three more sets for signing hands.  Lucky came and sat on Clint’s left as Chris talked with her family.

Clint wasn’t paying any attention to what was being said.  Honestly he didn’t care. He had his dog and pizza, and Chinese, and Indian. And what he thought might be Armenian, but he wasn’t sure.  It was kind of like pizza - so - whatever.

Then there was ice-cream.  

It was sort of like being at a birthday party when you felt a little sick and didn’t want to deal.   

It was exactly like being at a birthday party when you felt a little sick and didn’t want to deal.  

But it didn’t last long.  Chris chased everyone away as soon as he was done eating.

“ _You look wrecked_ ,” she signed.

“Happy birthday,” he replied.

“You want to sleep out here? Or in bed?” she asked.

He wanted to say bed, but he said, “where ever.”

“ _In bed we can face each other_ ,” she signed, “ _we can talk if you stay awake_.”

He smiled.  That was what he wanted.  He wanted to get in bed and hold her and chat until he fell asleep.  He wanted to be in love and quiet and just _normal._

He got into her bed and she lay down beside him.  The dogs hopped up and pushed at each other until they secured the spots they always ended up.  

“ _How was your day,_ ” he signed.  

“I have a stubborn client who isn’t willing to put in the work,” she said and shrugged. Then signed, _“I don’t know how to get through to him that he needs to put in the work to get better_.”  

She signed, and he watched, as she told him about work.  What had been going on in the building. Silly things the dogs had done.  Something about a hatchet throwing contest. Shows that they normally watched together.  He couldn’t even be mad that she had watched without him because he never knew when he would be back.  

If he would be back.

“ _I should let you sleep_ ,” she signed and then took his face in her hands.  She kissed his chin, his nose, his forehead, and then his lips.

  
“ _No_ ,” he signed, “ _this is perfect_.”


	4. To fall from a great and gruesome height

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "nightmares are a side effect.” 
> 
> “Side effect of my life,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always this is for @tgseperdvan on Twitter. She gave me the bunny (damn it)

Bobbi was dead.  He was holding her body.  He was vaguely aware, somewhere deep in his mind that he had done this before.  Held his wife’s dead body and cried.

And Nat, the woman who he had always loved.  The woman who he had his first adventures with.  She was dead. The woman who ‘it’s complicated’ was invented for.  

But Bobbi.

He touched her golden hair.  

And Kate, who was perfect, at least in the ways he needed in his life.  He had never had a sister, but if he had he would want it to be Kate.

But Bobbi.  

And then Barney.  And if anything was complicated it was his brother.  Family shouldn’t be that hard.

Clint heard something behind him and turned.  It was Chris she was being held up by a shadowy figure.  It had a knife to her throat and as he watched the knife started to move.

He would be all alone in the world.

Clint could feel himself screaming as he sat up.  Chris was in front of him him. Looking into his eyes.  Her eyes were the gray brown color of played out soil. A color he hadn’t seen since Iowa.  

He thought she was saying something.  But he couldn’t look away from her eyes.  He couldn’t see her lips and he couldn’t see her hands.  

He couldn’t breathe.  

His throat hurt and he thought maybe he was still screaming.  

He thought that signing to him.  He could see out of the corner of his eye.  He couldn’t look away from her eyes.

He was drowning.

 _C-L-I-N-T_ finger spelled onto his arm, _I-T---I-S---O-K---I---A-M---H-E-R-E---Y-O-U ---A-R-E---S-A-F-E_

The time it took him to figure out what Chris was saying to him broke the hold of the dream.  He looked down at her lips, “I’m right here. You’re Safe.”

Just like the signs on his arm.  

“That was a doozy,” he said slowly.

“ _Talk_ ,” she signed.

He shook his head.  This wasn’t something to talk about.  He just wanted it banished to the depths of his mind.  Where it belonged.

Also talking about your ex to your girlfriend is always a bad idea.  

“ _Coffee,_ ” he signed.

“ _Tea_ ,” she signed back, “ _you_ _need_ _rest_.”

He got up and made a dismissive gesture.  He wanted coffee. And beer. And some pain killers.   

And she was right.  More sleep. After that?  Food and more sleep.

The dogs rushed by him to the door.  Chris walked past him toward the door.  

Clint panicked and pushed past her.  The dream was still at the edges of his consciousness and he couldn’t let her go first.  He needed her to be safe from whatever the fuck he had brought home.

He grabbed the doorknob.  

“ _Hawkeye_ ,” Chris singed from beside him.  She could always see the difference, “ _Don’t_.”  

He jerked the door open.  

And a tenant was standing there, “Hawkeye [or Hawkguy?] I heard yelling?  I wanted to make sure she was alright?”

Clint leaned against the door frame and ran his hands through his hair.  Chris took his arm.

“I’m fine,” she said it and signed it, “he’s hurt, and I gave him something for the pain and nightmares are a side effect.”

“ _Side effect of my life_ ,” he signed before walking back to the kitchen.  He looked at her coffee maker, her tea pot, and then just went to the fridge for a beer.  Maybe if he drank a ton it would settle him.

He saw Chris out of the corner of his eye before she slipped her arms around him, “ _Talk, please?_ ”

He shook his head.  Pulling free and turning to face Chris.

“ _You were calling out for Bobbi.  Did something happen?_ ”

He shook his head again.  He hadn’t seen Bobbi in a while actually.

“ _Call her_?”

“ _She doesn't want to hear from me_ ,” he signed.

“ _You don’t know that_.”

He looked into those eyes of played out farm land.  Those eyes the color of home. Real home. The color of beginnings and endings.  The color of Iowa. He took her in his arms and rested his cheek against hers and said, “what made me scream, wasn’t her, or Nat, or Kate, or even Barney.  What made me scream was you.”

He felt something signed against his chest _I---L-O-V-E---U_

He sighed and settled deeper into her arms.  He had always been so quick to let himself love.  So fast to jump from that pinical of feeling. Intoxicated by the fall.  

But so afraid of the pain of love.  

He had pushed them all away.  

Chris had no way to defend herself.  No way to protect herself from his world.  

She pulled back, so he could see her, and said, “I get it.  Bad timing and now you are freaked out,” she rested her hands over his heart, “You need to know that you are safe here.  That you have a home with me. If that makes you uncomfortable, to bad Barton.”

He smiled and let Chris go.  She walked back to the bedroom and left him standing in the kitchen.

She turned back and signed, “ _When you are done feeling sorry for yourself._ ”  

He smiled again and picked up the beer can.  He saluted her with the can and said to her retreating back, “You have a home with me.”

 


End file.
